Rock on, Rock off
by alucart
Summary: The tale of Rocker and his Student - A tragic accident sees JJ stranded in a lonely backwater town, surrounded by beets and left feeling at the end of his rope... until a young dreamer crosses his path. Rhythm Heaven, YAOI, M for later chapters
1. In which Heaven becomes Hell

So, this is the first non-Castlevania fic I've ever attempted to write x3 I know its for a lesser known fandom, but please bear with me. The day I got Rhythm Heaven was the day I became obsessed with these two, and their backstory is so vague I couldn't help but want to write a little more about them. That said, I still firmly believe that Rocker's student is male and I have written him as such in this story.

But with THAT said, **this fic will eventually contain yaoi**. And it will probably be slow, just like all my previous fics have been. Don't like it don't read it, kay? Kay.

As for in chapter notes, I don't know anything about neck injuries except that I sprained mine once. I don't know any medical terms and all that fun stuff either. So therefore Doc is vague. Doc is _always_ vague. I also don't know anything about headbanging or guitars, so excuse me if I derp it up and make anyone sound like an idiot. I am a musician, I just don't play guitar. I suck like that.

But I hope you enjoy Rock on, Rock off! Thank you for taking the time to read this, and don't let me hold you back any further :'D

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 - in which Heaven becomes Hell<strong>

"We're almost there, Mr Rocker."

Dull, disinterested eyes turned from the back of the taxi driver's head to stare sullenly out the somewhat grimy window of the moving cab. All he could see for miles along the bumpy country road was field. Miles and miles of field. The same dull green pattern, divided up into segment after predictable segment. And the occasional beetroot leaping into the air from the hard stomp of some dirt smeared farmer. He hated beets. Beets were disgusting. And he didn't understand stomp farmers either. How they could possibly want to spend day after day stomping away in sun-scorched fields for some sort of lumpy root that didn't even taste good... he glared as another one of the vegetables bounced into the air, only to tumble back into the soil. Clearly whoever was tending them hadn't quite mastered their sense of rhythm yet.

J.J Rocker sighed in frustration. Flying beets, dislodged moles... nothing screamed countryside more than those things. He was truly out in the boonies now. Running a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowed as his fingertips came in contact with the brace at the nape of his neck and he winced inwardly.

The first time had been an accident. Whiplash, the doctor had said. Damaged some vertebrae. And that had been on top of the concussion/almost-coma of knocking his head into one of the amps. He'd almost broken his neck, ruined himself for good. The muscle was weak and the doc had suggested taking some time off to let it recover. The doc had _insisted_ on sending him home, pulling him mid-tour, for some 'much needed R&R'.

Bullshit, he'd said. I don't need it. I don't want to let my fans down, he said. And so at his next gig he'd gone on, reveled in the cheering crowd, sung at the top of his lungs, rocked them all with his tunes. He'd ignored the vertigo, dulled the pain with a mixture of tylenol and gin, had a cigarette before he stepped into the spotlight. He lived for his music, lived for his fans. He was the King of Headbanging, J.J Rocker! Nothing would pull him down, not even a little headache and a stiff neck.

Perhaps he'd rocked too hard. Perhaps that little cocktail of medicine and alcohol had been a bit too much and affected his co-ordination. Either way, something had happened mid-song; he recalled a pain so sharp that it felt like someone had driven a red-hot blade into the base of his neck and simply ripped it through. Everything else after that had been hazy. He vaguely recalled something bumping the back of his head, vaguely remembered falling on his guitar. When he'd next opened his eyes, he found the doctor's face frowning down at him. While he'd lain unconscious, they'd canceled his tour and told the media he'd be out for a while. A long time in fact.

And of course the doc was furious. But he'd been furious too, he hadn't wanted to stop what he was doing, not for a second. But the threat of 'never rock again' had halted him in his tracks. Rocking was his life, his passion. He didn't want to have to wait for anything, he was fired up and ready for the world. He'd always been fired up and ready for the world.

But the doc had put his foot down and insisted he go away. Go far away so that the lure of the crowd, the glamor of the stage would not sit at his shoulder and constantly tempt him. He'd sat home for a few days feeling sorry for himself, and then suddenly he woke up at the hospital again. Those little cocktails he'd been making, those little things he'd been taking to dull the aches of his injury and the longing for his moment in the sun had taken their toll on him. If he didn't run off to reclaim the stage and break his neck, his love for painkillers and alcohol would see him drinking to oblivion.

And that was how he'd found himself in the back of a cab, traveling down the road to nowhere. He needed a place to rest and recover. Far away from his normal comforts, far away from anything familiar. Just think of it like a vacation, the doc had said.

J.J was downright miserable. He didn't want a fucking vacation. Especially not in some dingy little backwater town surrounded by fields of... beets.

And to top it all off, the place was called _Heaven_. It made him feel like he'd died or something. Like his career was or would be over forever. He scowled, plucking at his neck brace. Ever since he'd left the hospital, he'd just become more and more tempted to rip the damn thing from his throat. The King of Headbanging was stopped by no obstacle. Especially not some stupid fucking cast around his neck. Fingers twitching, he dropped his hands back into his lap, gazing balefully out of the window as the muted 'Yeah, yeah, yeah's of some pop singer crackled out of the radio. He'd met her once before, he recalled. And hadn't liked her. He couldn't respect any singer that bribed a pack of monkeys with a banana a day to cheer and clap along to her songs. He'd seen them in her apartment. He knew.

Turning his thoughts back towards the scenery around him and away from miss One Hit Wonder, heavy eyebrows narrowed as they moved through what could only be considered the township of this tiny, close knit community. He shuddered at the amount of vegetable stalls featuring those hairy beets. The damn things had eyes. How would you go about cutting those things up, let alone cooking them? Gross.

His eyes roamed the town through that begrimed window, taking in as much of it as he could. Aside from your common variety of stores, he noted a stadium, a racetrack, a couple of small factories, a public pool... and as they traveled further down the cheerful main road, what appeared to be a small university of some sort. Had J.J been in the mood to admire it, he would have found it impressive. It wasn't very often that you found little academies out this far in nowhere. People of all sorts of shapes and shades went about their daily business in the streets and as they rounded the fountain in the town square, he caught the faintest hint of a song above the tacky 'love you, love you, love you' and 'I suppose!' of the poser on the radio. His gaze was drawn to the park just beyond the spurting jets of water, where a couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball back and forth to one another.

Confusion furrowed his brow. Maybe he should have read more about this Heaven place before he jumped to conclusions. It was... bigger than he expected. More colorful. Staring around, he began to wonder just what kind of a town it was... but instants later, his face was clouded in a scowl once again. He was being sent here against his will. He wouldn't enjoy it. He refused to enjoy it. He would sit in the little room of his little hotel – it was a hotel, right? - and not move from the sofa for as long as he had to sit and wait this little trip out.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the glass, just wishing the trip was already over so he could drown himself in the oblivion of sleep. Sure, J.J had tried to sleep on the ride over, but that godawful music had been playing the entire way down. And that damn driver had always exclaimed and turned up the volume whenever a song of his had come up on the radio. Clearly he was a fan, and at any other time J.J would have appreciated it. But today was just... a day for disappointments. Right now all he wanted was out of the cab, away from this hick town, a cigarette and a flight back to his tour bus. He loved the fans gushing over him, but only when he was on stage where they couldn't do more than reach for him from behind a flimsy barrier.

The cab pulled to a gentle stop, coaxing his eyes open to gaze upon his place of residence for the next... fuck, he didn't know. The doc had mentioned it but he'd been too furious to pay attention. But as he looked out at the tiny, most likely single room cottage he'd been assigned, he felt his heart sink a little. The doctor expected him to live in a place like this? He'd barely have enough room to stretch his damn legs here!

He hissed in frustration as he heard the boot pop, the driver getting out to unload his things. He hadn't brought too much with him; essentials, really. With a pack of cigarettes and a few bottles of gin hidden in the mix, certainly. And painkillers. Lots and lots of painkillers. The doctor hadn't said he couldn't stop his regular habits, though he'd gotten hell from a few one night stands exclaiming over how he'd ruin his pretty voice if he kept smoking. Fuck. Just thinking about it made him want to pull out a cigarette and light up. Shoving open the taxi door, he yanked his guitar off the seat beside him and slung it casually over his shoulder, digging in his pockets for a lighter.

The driver set his bags down by the door of the cabin as J.J whirled around and strode up to examine the place. He wondered just how much was coming out of his pocket to rent this place – the doc had taken care of it all, he'd had nothing to do with it really. It looked relatively clean, at least, possibly even quaint, if J.J hadn't been mulishly determined to hate every day of his existence here. He missed home - missed his tour bus even more he thought as he blew a slender ribbon of smoke up into the clouding sky. He had the keys, but he didn't want to go in just yet... his gaze flickered back over to the cabbie as he heard the boot slam.

"Just a second, my good man." he swaggered over to the surprised driver, suddenly smiles and radiating rock star charm. A roll of bills had all but materialized in his hand as he clapped his palm to the other man's, forcing the money into chubby fingers. "I trust you'll keep my being here a secret, yeah?" he said cheerfully. "Doc did say I needed rest and recuperation."

He smiled as the driver blubbered and stammered, flustered and flushing now that J.J Rocker was actually _speaking_ to him. He'd seen it many times with his fans and most of the time he actually found it endearing... though usually the subjects in question were cute little groupies in overdone makeup and miniskirts. They'd follow him everywhere... from the stage to his hotel and back again... all over the country in some extreme cases! He blinked. The man before him was neither a groupie nor remotely cute.

"I'll sign you something." he mumbled to seal the deal.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later found J.J flopped out on the sofa in the small, two room cabin. He'd explored the place rather thoroughly and it had taken him all of five minutes. It was <em>tiny<em>. There was a bed in the furthest corner, a small, rustic looking thing with a mattress that looked as though it would at least give his neck a bit of relief. He'd immediately dumped his things on it, peered through an adjoining door at a reasonably clean bathroom, then staggered around the rest of the cabin, examining the tiny fridge, testing the taps and peering out of the window at the township a stone's throw from his new residence.

He'd then proceeded to take a painkiller for his headache and fill the room with smoke, despite the letter from the doc that had warned him not to – this place was a rental after all. But fuck if he'd listen, if he was going to be stranded here, he wanted the things that brought him the most simple of joys. Alcohol, cigarettes and pain medication.

Dull eyes gazed up at the wood pattern on the ceiling as he blew a puff of smoke skyward. The brace around his neck made lying down uncomfortable, but sitting up was just as much of a chore. He'd been sitting all day, his legs were stiff. A sigh followed the slender ribbon of smoke as he rolled onto his side, groping for the bottle of gin he'd placed on the floor beside his current place of rest. This was turning out to be the biggest disappointment of his life. All he'd ever done were things he'd loved... his music had always been his passion, ever since he was young. But young J.J had only cared about the soul of his songs, young J.J had yet to learn the wonder of a cheering crowd, never enjoyed the heady ecstasy of a full blown concert. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he began to wonder if the roar of the crowd had changed him at all - much as he loved to scream, much as he loved to sing, if he didn't have an audience...

He drove the thoughts away with a slight sniff, stubbing his cigarette out on one of the coasters left on the table. If the doc was going to hole him up in here for however long it was, he'd have to put up with the charges at the end. That'd show him not to send J.J Rocker off against his will.

Something at the back of his mind told him he was being utterly childish, and he blinked down at the table feeling a slight twinge of guilt. Fine, he'd replace the damn coasters. And buy an ashtray.

Clearing his throat and draining the rest of the bottle to rid himself of his guilty feelings, he trudged back to his bed in the corner of the cabin, hefting his bag and promptly upending it onto the plush duvet. Among the clothes and medication that tumbled out, he noticed something in a gaudy yellow hue that he didn't recall putting in for one and clearly wasn't his for another. Picking it out of the jumble of black and grey, he found a note, hastily scrawled on brown paper, pinned to it.

_"I figured you wouldn't want to go out on vacation without one of these.  
>Doc told me what happened to you. I know you'll find a good use for it!<br>Get better and come home soon, bro_

_- D.J.Y"_

Unrolling the long swath of woolen fabric, he found himself holding an incredibly long scarf, complete with tassels at the ends. His frown only deepened. DJ Yellow, whilst something of a friend and a once upon a time affectionate rival, was not his favorite person in the world. Lately he'd just been sinking into a deeper and deeper hatred for the little yellow man. To find a 'gift' like this, in such a... horrible, horrible color, mixed in with his luggage felt like more of a jab and insult than any manner of kindness. It wasn't screaming 'use me as a sad excuse to hide your neck brace'. Not at all. It wouldn't fucking work anyway, his brace was too thick. He'd just look even stupider than he did already. What the hell was Yellow thinking?

Somewhat tipsy and more than a little frustrated, he lumped his clothes together and stomped over to the cabinet on the far side of the room, throwing everything in and slamming the doors shut, holding them in place a moment later as everything threatened to spill out. The cupboard shuddered, held, and J.J stalked back to his bed, stumbling on the floorboards. The rub of the infernal brace around his neck stopped him from simply jumping into bed – he moved with deliberate care and slid on top of the sheets, staring up at the wood-grain pattern of the ceiling again.

What the hell was he meant to do to pass the time here? The cabin didn't even have TV... or a bookshelf. Not that J.J read much in his spare time. Magazines mostly. He was always curious as to what his fans and reviewers were saying about him. He'd miss them the way they'd miss him once they heard about his accident... surely it was all over Guitar Monthly by now.

His gaze traveled to the small fridge, stocked with enough to last him a day or two. He didn't feel like leaving the cabin ever. Especially not to associate with country bumpkins. He vowed to only go out when he had to, where he had to. There was still a bottle or two of gin. His neck was beginning to hurt again. All he needed was to close his eyes and keep himself warm... as long as he could deaden the pain with alcohol and cigarettes, he could just sleep the days away.

Another sigh parted his lips, expressing the feelings buried under the haze of smoke and the warmth of gin for just a second. Here he was in a town away from everything and everyone he adored. With a brace around his neck and his career slowly but surely slipping between his fingers. He couldn't rock. He couldn't sing. In a few weeks, he'd be just a memory. A legend that would fade from the spotlight, a fool who did too much and wasted his moment away.

J.J Rocker closed his eyes. Today had just simply been a terrible day.


	2. In which a Student is introduced

Just like JJ has always struck me to be some sexed up, nonchalant smoker, his student has always given me the impression of being quieter and more sensible. And in some senses a better musician xD; I know its pretty hard to characterize the two of them with the information you get in game, but I've tried my best and here's how my interpretation has gone. Hope its suitable Dx

In chapter notes: lololol space soccer troupe. They all play soccer now. And due to that one little remix, it wouldn't surprise me that JJ and/or his student would play too. So now you know where this chapter is coming from. I also don't know anything about soccer. So please excuse any jargon fails on my part. Everything is too vague. Coming up with other names for things is hard ;n; But I'm trying to stick as close to the game as possible. I'm just not very good at it xD

Nonetheless, enjoy.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 - in which a Student is introduced<strong>

Alarm bells were going off somewhere in a realm far away from his own. The steady high shrieking beep of a bedside clock, demanding he wake at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. Wake, wake, wake, wake.

Fair eyelids twitched, though the boy did not wake from his dream. He rolled onto his back, expertly throwing out an arm, his closed fist silencing the bleeping machine in a single beat. The echo of a song still whirled about in his brain as sharp, apple-green eyes snapped open and he leapt out of bed, dashing for his desk in the corner where an empty music book lay open and waiting. The crisp, clean lines seemed to speak to him as he whipped a pencil from a beet shaped cup perched securely in the hole that had once been an inkwell. Just as a writer put pen to paper, his fingers flew over the score of lines, drawing circles and filling them in, tracing tails on every note, humming softly as he went, his brow furrowed in a thoughtful frown.

He knew a lot of people who kept dream diaries. But he didn't dream the way others did. Where they saw things, he heard them. And nothing ordinary or anything like that. He never dreamed of people, of bizarre scenarios, what-could-bes or what-had-beens; he dreamed in crotchets, in four time, in semi-quavers and rests. His dreams were colored with the brightest hues and filled with the most incredible sound. The sound of composition.

Setting his pencil down, he lifted his guitar from where it rested on its stand and strummed a few experimental chords to make sure it was still in tune. His fingers flew over the strings, strumming out each note in its place, recreating the melancholy melody that had filled his head throughout the course of the night. As he played, his eyes grew bright, his lips curling into a wide, childish smile. There was room for improvement, but he had caught it. He had captured the song that had danced within his dreams all night.

His music was cut short, however, by a loud thump on the wall that startled him mid strum. He winced at the muted curses that followed, his gaze flying to the blinking alarm clock on his nightstand. 5:40. He had to run. He was going to be late for practice. Again.

Placing his instrument carefully on his bed, he dashed to his wardrobe and wrenched the doors open, sorting through the folded clothes on the low shelf, haphazardly throwing on his favorite shirt and grabbing his soccer boots from where they rested by the door as he bundled his uniform and a slice of toast into his bag before dashing out the door, slamming it behind him to the annoyance of his neighbors.

It was only a ten minute walk from his apartment to the park where his team practiced on Sundays – early on Sundays so they wouldn't get in the way of that body builder in the karate uniform. It was a large park... but you never knew when a stray flowerpot would come flying out from a misjudged kick. Early practice also meant they wouldn't get in the way of the people walking their dogs.

He couldn't help but feel like the odd one out amongst his fellow players. They were all from different families, but lived within the same neighborhood, looked very similar and often dressed the same to simply frustrate him. Two of them were twins and they both studied at the university with him, though his course was quite different from their own. They had seen him watching them in the park, observed as he'd kicked a few goals on his own in the evenings. And then one day, as they'd finished a very successful group essay, one of the twins had up and asked him to join the team since a friend of theirs had recently moved away. He'd accepted, surprised, and since then he'd been treated like the team's pet. He wasn't amazing at soccer like some of them were, but he was by no means bad at it either, unless a sudden tune struck him in the middle of a match. And that hadn't happened for a while now.

He was almost out of breath by the time he dashed through the park's open gates, grinning sheepishly at the team of slender, purple-clad figures that stood waiting for him in a line, long limbs crossed over fair chests, heads cocked at almost identical angles. One strode forward, dismissing the rest with a wave of his hand. A bag of soccer balls lay nearby and these were immediately set upon as he dropped his bag into the grass and took a moment to catch his breath.

"You were listening to the music again, Stu?" Kee spoke with a high, twittery voice, catching a soccer ball as someone tossed it to him and began bouncing it off his knees as he waited for an explanation.

"Y-yeah..." he gasped, running a hand through tousled red locks. "Sorry... but I wasn't too late this time, was I?" he laughed weakly, lips sealing shut as he saw the other boy's unimpressed frown between the ball bouncing off his knees. It unnerved him that Kee even had his arms crossed and still managed to do that nonchalantly.

"If by 'not too late' you mean 'only ten minutes this time' then I suppose so." His lips quirked into a fond smile. "C'mon Stu. Get your boots on, this is the earliest you've been in weeks. We're proud of you." He caught the ball in both hands, dropping it to the ground and placing his boot on top of it. "And you'd better play me whatever the hell you've come up with today, ok? That's your penalty." And ignoring his obvious look of delight and relief, Kee turned around and strode back to the others on the team, kicking the ball at them with a loud, sharp blast of his whistle.

Stu could only beam as he hurried to pull his shoes on and join them.

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><p>The end of practice saw him damp and mud smeared, but wholly satisfied with his achievements that day. He was finally beginning to understand the knee-ball technique that many of them had mastered years ago. As far as he knew, Kee and his friends had been playing soccer a lot longer than he had. Jun had mentioned something about family tradition and sticking with something early in their lives, so it wasn't all that much of a surprise. He could understand, he was the same way with music.<p>

Speaking of which... he turned his head toward the direction of his apartment, remembering the odd little piece that had rooted itself in his dreams. His lips quirked up in a bright little smile at the thought of it. He hung behind as the team disbanded for the day, some making promises to go and study, others organizing a meet up a little later on, Sang begging Kee to lend him his Nintendo because Kee had a game he desperately wanted to play. The other boy brushed him off striding over to where Stu was perched on a park bench, attempting to wipe mud off his shoes with a grimy towel.

"Hey, did you hear the news?" He cocked his head and peered at his friend. Beneath the smears of mud covering him and his uniform was a bright eyed individual, his skin a healthy peach where Kee's was tanned. Amongst the members of their team, Stu was obviously the black sheep; he was taller, his physical build a little stronger than any among their number. But his hair was like fire, a bright, coppery red that fell in a shaggy, layered mass and curled a little at the ends. It was the kind of hair that made Stu his little sister's favorite person – though he had to admit that it was odd how his mother liked to complement Stu on it as well. Maybe it was a woman thing. He'd had freckles once, but the only reminder of those were the scant, almost invisible speckles on the bridge of his nose. There had always been a kind of dreamy look to Stu. Though that was probably because his head was up in the clouds, making music. He was a master of the art, but...

"What news?'" The green eyed boy was blinking up at him, holding out the towel so that Kee could wipe off his own boots. His inquisitive eyes caught sight of Kee's straight set mouth and his own lips immediately jerked into a frown. When Kee got like that... it was never good news.

"You remember the concert we were supposed to be going to over in Upcity?" He paused as Stu nodded. "Well, Rocker's canceled his tour. They're giving refunds out at the ticket office... I'm sorry Stu, I know you were looking forward to it more than any of us..." He turned his gaze down to his feet and proceeded to rub furiously at them with the towel to avoid the almost heartbroken look on his friend's face. If there was one thing that Stu loved more than music itself, it was Rocker, the King of Headbanging, though he worshiped the other man in an incredibly minimal way. Any outsider looking at Stu would never realize how much the rock star inspired him, though traces of his work were often heard in the compositions that the redhead churned out on an almost daily basis.

"Rocker... canceled?" The shock in his voice was genuine. So he hadn't gotten his hands on the newspaper today. "But... why? I was really looking forward to going..." he sighed a little sadly.

"He broke his neck or something. Headbanging, you know?" Kee shrugged guiltily even though he knew full well that it was out of his hands. "I never thought you could get an injury like that, but apparently you can..." he frowned. "I'm sure Guitar Monthly will have a lot more coverage on what went down with him... but he's sick. And no longer on tour. The papers reckon he's going to be out of the loop for good."

Stu's eyes went wide at that and Kee winced. He should probably have kept his mouth shut and let the other boy figure it out on his own. "Broke his neck? Doing what?" Shock and horror mingled on his features. "Rocker's a legend! He can't just disappear overnight because of something like that! A-are you sure he broke his neck, Kee? You aren't messing with me right? B-because this isn't funny!"

"Hey, this is just what I heard." Kee set the towel down on the bench and sighed. "I don't know the specifics myself. I'm just as in the dark about it as you are..." he patted his friend on the shoulder. "We can still go to Upcity though, right? I mean... we all planned a three day vacation and there's still plenty of things to do up there. It'll just be... well... minus Rocker's gig. If you're really concerned, why don't you write him another letter?"

Stu blinked up at him, frowning. "Rocker doesn't read his fan-mail..." he said softly.

"You tried?" Kee stood up, crossing his arms and throwing the muddy towel over one shoulder. He kinda wished he'd had a soccer ball right now. Bouncing the thing would make him feel a little less stressed about the situation he'd put his friend in.

"Almost." Stu nodded, staring down at his feet. "I couldn't bring myself to send it in the end. Its still in my desk drawer somewhere. Too embarrassed. But the forum..." he shrugged. "A lot of the users there are still waiting for him to maybe, possibly reply to their letters and emails and compositions. He's influenced a lot of people after all, not just me." He smiled a sad little half smile. "Its alright, Kee. You're right, we can still have fun in Upcity. And Rocker will be back, I'm sure of it." his smile widened a little more. "He's the King of Headbanging after all. Have a little more faith, huh? I'm sure Rocker will be back on his feet before we know it."

"You're taking this remarkably well." Kee said dryly.

Stu shrugged, getting to his feet. "Well, he'll be back. You know a little break isn't going to keep the stars down for long. So I'm going to be optimistic and just wait for next time." He shouldered his bag. "And there's gonna be a next time. Don't forget who we're talking about here."

"Whatever you say..." Kee nodded, tilting his head. There was a clear note of doubt in his voice that made Stu pull a face.

"Come on Kee, don't be like that." the frown that graced his lips could almost be called a pout. "I'll see you and the twins next Saturday at eight, right?"

"Yup." Kee glanced over his shoulder at the two purple clothed figures scooping soccer balls into net bags. "Eight o'clock next week, in case we don't see Stu any time before then, right guys?" He noted their enthusiastic nods and quirked an eyebrow in his friend's direction. "Try not to be late, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah." Stu absently flapped a hand at him. "I know. I'll remember. See you next week then." With a lighthearted wave, he hefted his bag and headed out of the park's main gates, the cheerful grin that graced his features fading with every step he took.

Well, at least Kee couldn't see his disappointment.

* * *

><p>The metallic strum of an electric guitar filled his ears as his eyes slipped shut. Rocker's voice filled his ears as he sang of some conquest or another. He knew the words off by heart, his lips moving silently, echoing his idol.<p>

The rest of the day had passed rather uneventfully; he'd returned home, taken a shower, thrown his uniform in the laundry and slipped Rocker's latest soundtrack into his CD player while he vacuumed his small living room/kitchen/dining room. He was only a student therefore his apartment was one that only a student could afford, but he kept it as neat as the day he'd first moved in. His music was kept on low volume, he'd already done more than enough to aggravate his flatmates that morning, but even above the loud drone of the vacuum he could still hear every riff played, Rocker's voice reaching ears that had heard every song more times than he could remember.

He danced as he cleaned, caught up in the music, eyes closed and mouth curled into an almost euphoric smile. Time seemed to pass so much faster this way, he always worked best when he had a song to hold his attention. He finished up, vacuuming carefully around the small dinner table in the corner before flicking the vacuum off and bounding into his room. He leapt back out moments later, his own guitar in hand, strumming riffs he knew so well, silently howling along with the words, completely caught up in the rapture of the song. His fingers couldn't move fast enough to do the guitar solo that followed, but he had been practicing and he still was practicing. Someday he'd get it, but he could air it in the meantime.

But the song came to an end and his stereo fell silent as it reached the end of the disc. Stu sat up slowly, opening his eyes, smiling a little wistfully as he leaned his guitar carefully against the sofa and strode to the kitchen to put the jug on to boil. It was approximately lunch time; he couldn't judge by the clock on his wall since it had run out of batteries months ago. He never had the money to replace them, and when he did he always forgot to. Such was the frugal income of a student. Money was fleeting and flighty and usually spent on rent and groceries. He didn't have a job, but he did busk in the park whenever he was able to. It pulled him enough to see him through the week, usually, though he was still hoping to make it big by playing his own tunes. He often daydreamed that someone would one day walk up to him and hand over a contract, though he knew it was never going to be that simple.

Still, it would have made his life a lot easier. But this wasn't a fairytale.

Besides, he still had a degree to complete. Aside from learning the guitar (he was self taught and thought he was doing pretty damn well for himself), he was also studying to be a registered composer on campus, wishing to take his music to new heights, learn everything he could about the subject, how to master the subject, how to tame it by his own hand. But while he could write a note and hold a steady beat, true composition still eluded him. He left the kitchen area to wander back into his room, taking a long look around.

The walls were covered in pale lavender wallpaper, plain with no pattern in the scant areas where you could actually see it. Three of those walls were plastered with posters of his idol, wild, dark hair tossed up in hectic spikes, dark blue eyes fierce and burning, even in paper form. Rocker was associated with the skull motif, his own guitar had one carved into it, it was emblazoned on the back of his jacket and there were rumors that there was even one inked somewhere on his body, though the paparazzi had never caught him without a shirt, nor had he confirmed any of the curious questions of the people on the forum. He would have thought it would be rather clear by now though, judging by the amount of fans who had claimed to have slept with him.

Aside from every poster of Rocker ever printed, there were also various articles from Guitar monthly pasted up on the walls amongst them. Stu liked having things to read while he was staring at his walls. And Rocker's articles were always so inspiring.

The wall farthest from his bed was, while not absolutely flooded with Rocker, still covered in various bits of paper. Study notes. Exam preparations. Music that he had written on his score paper that he thought sounded decent. Music that he had written but thought still needed work. Music he'd written for Kee but had never gotten around to completing, despite telling the other boy that it was for his birthday that had been two months ago. That far wall was his work station; his desk rested against it, its lower shelves filled with books upon books of his compositions, the latest one lying open on the flat work surface, his scribbles from that morning showing on the crisp, lined paper. The beet shaped cup that sat in his inkwell was filled with an assortment of pens, pencils and paperclips – he always seemed to need them at the strangest times and he always knew he could find one or the other here. An overflowing wastebasket was perched beside the desk, filled with crumpled balls of paper, failed notes and compositions. He shuffled over to empty it.

Aside from a few stray balls of paper, his room was relatively clean. He hadn't made his bed that morning, and his wardrobe doors were still open, but the clothing inside was still hung neatly on hangers, his shoes arranged in tidy lines on the floor. He blamed his upbringing for the neatness of the place; Kee and the twins had often complained about how nice his home looked in comparison to their own rooms and how on earth did he find the time to clean? Stu wasn't sure himself. He just remembered getting thrashed for refusing to pick up his toys when he was younger. Maybe that had had something to do with it. But either way, he couldn't work in what he considered a messy space. It disrupted his thoughts.

He heard the jug click back in the kitchen, so took his bag of papers to the main disposal unit and headed back, peering into the small kitchen cupboard for a bowl of instant noodles before seating himself on the couch and flicking on the TV while he waited. His guitar was in hand a moment later, his fingers carefully tuning the strings as he skipped through ads about beets and upcoming events. There was a news broadcast at about this time, wasn't there? His thoughts returned to what Kee had told him that morning... Rocker's canceled tour, their plans for Upcity changed. He smiled a thin, wary smile. At least now they'd have a little spending money. Rocker's concerts never came cheap. But was it true? Was he really out of the touring loop for good?

As if in echo of his thoughts, the diplomatic jingle that heralded the afternoon news update sounded, Stu's head jerking up almost immediately to see what was on. Something about a beet growth explosion in a nearby farm. Some group of fanatics declaring mole rights in another city. Angry stomp farmers. And then...

"It would seem that a lot of fans all over the country are going to be let down in the upcoming months. Headbanging legend J.J Rocker has suffered a severe neck injury and has had to cancel his tour around the country." The camera cut to a crowd of fans waiting outside a ticket office, many of them waving signs and banners proclaiming their love for Rocker and giving him their wellwishes. The few that noticed the camera were doing everything possible to make sure the attention stayed on them. "Many of his fans are gathering at their local ticket offices to reclaim refunds from his million dollar tour. We speak to some of them now."

"We love Rocker and we're gonna miss him, but if you're watching this, bro, get better and come back to us soon yeah!"

"Its kinda a real disappointment, like, you know? Like... I know some other people have already seen his concert but like... they said Rocker was like... a huge let down and I was all ohhhhhmigod, I hope he'll do better for us! But, like, now we won't even get to see him and that, like, major blows. But get better J.J sweetie, we're all, like, waiting for you to come back!"

The camera cut back to the reporter's face, where a tall, bespectacled man with limp chestnut hair was standing beside him. "We're here live with Rocker's doctor, Mister uh...?" He looked expectantly up at the other man but the doctor only raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"J.J Rocker has been sent away for a much needed rest." His steely gaze met the camera, his dour expression intensified by the slight zoom of the lens. "I would advise you fans not to ask where he is, nor make any attempt to look for him. He doesn't need the crowd, he doesn't need his fans pestering him. He needs to get better and he can't do so without peace and quiet."

"Uh... could you tell us a little more about his injury?" The reporter almost flinched as the doctor snapped his neck around to look at him.

"Rocker has suffered rather severe damage to his neck. He has overexerted himself and simply needs time for his injuries to recover. I would say more, truly I would, but he has asked that I hold my tongue." There was a note of sarcasm in the slender man's voice.

"Do you think he'll ever be back on stage?" the reporter asked finally.

"With injuries like his, I doubt it. If he does make a comeback, it won't be for years." he said placidly. "And even then, it would be relatively easy to injure himself again. The vertebrae are worn down. He might never headbang again." The doctor lifted a slim shoulder in a shrug.

"W-well, there you have it." the reporter turned back to the camera. "Rocker is officially ou-"

Stu flicked the TV off with a sinking heart, a sigh parting his lips. So it was true then. Rocker really was out of the loop. The doctor had been so vague about his injuries that Stu really had no idea what was wrong with his idol. He knew he shouldn't let something like this get him down, especially with his exams so close and his mid-term break just around the corner, but...

When Kee had told him they were going to Upcity to see Rocker in concert and that they'd reserved him a ticket, he'd been over the moon. He'd kept the receipt in one of his books as a souvenir. He'd been waiting so eagerly for the day that he would see his idol live... he'd missed Rocker's tours in the past when he was living back with his family. His mother hadn't approved of his taste in music and he wasn't earning enough that he could afford to go to the concerts himself at the time. When he'd moved to Heaven to study, he'd met his friends and they had planned this... but now Rocker was injured and he might never see the other man. Ever.

It was more than disappointing. Upcity was a four day drive away. He'd never been to the big city, but was more than used to its sights and charms. Before he'd come to Heaven, he'd lived a prosperous life in an even larger city that was a nine hour plane flight away. He'd come far to study at an academy that hardly anyone had ever heard of, fleeing the expectations of a mother who wanted him to become a surgeon, a father who was always away at work. He was a simple child and hearing Rocker's music in person had been all he'd ever dreamed of for a while now.

But now he probably never would.

Looking down at his guitar, his expression crestfallen, he sighed again. Wherever Rocker was now, he hoped his idol was enjoying his vacation. And that he wasn't too badly hurt. And that he wouldn't forget his fans and come back. Stu had faith in him, but it was a rapidly dwindling faith. He'd all but grown up on Rocker's tunes and he had always hoped to see and hear even more.

"He'll get better and then he'll be back." he said softly. "I know it." he smiled. "Nothing keeps Rocker down for long, right?"

Getting to his feet, he set his guitar down by the sofa again, wandering back into the tiny kitchen area to eat noodles that had grown cold as his attention had been riveted on the TV.


End file.
